


Clouds

by Mikearoni



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: (weirdly specific au i know but bear with me), Gen, Jeremy has amnesia and wings, Michael knows ASL, The Squip (Sutton) is Michael's sibling, Wings AU, rated for mild language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-07 21:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12849603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikearoni/pseuds/Mikearoni
Summary: It's all fun and games until you find a bird kid in the woods.





	1. Chapter 1

He woke up with a killer headache.

It was a long while before he decided to open his eyes, but he sat bolt upright when he did. This isn’t his house… is it? Or--no, forget the view; what sorry state is he in? It took half a second to test every important limb, and they were all fine. His wings feel a bit sore though.

There are two white and blue feathered wings spreading cautiously from his back. This is normal.

What isn’t normal is this room.

He’d been lying down on... something. It’s soft and square. The walls and floor were flat and square. This entire room was square, with smaller, more colorful squares plastered up at random. Houses aren’t meant to be square, are they? He’s never seen anything like this before… has he? He didn’t recognize the furniture, the decorations, anything--he barely recognized himself. The unfamiliarity of it all was starting to terrify him.

He scrambled off the soft thing, wings flapping madly behind him, and darted towards what looked like the only part of the walls made to open. It was small for an exit but it’s all he’s got. Gathering his nerve, he gave his best shot at yanking it open. It wouldn’t budge.

Someone’s locked him in a square box.

Panic was bubbling up his throat. His wings were tensed. His hands were shaking. Why is he here? Where _is_ here? What’s going on? Did he _do_ something? _Why would he be kidnapped? Is he important?_ _Is he going to die?_ Someone, _please, just tell him what’s going on, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t remember, he doesn’t remember anything--_

“ _HEY!_ ” The panic had risen enough to start spilling out of his mouth. “ _Where’s--where am I!? Someone, please--_ ” He hacked out a cough. Why was the air so heavy? “ _PLEASE! What--what’s going on!? I-I--I didn’t--i-if I did something I’m SORRY! Please, I’ll--I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll listen, I promise, just--_ ”

Something clicked and his breath hitched. Not a second later the exit flew open, and he screamed.

 

* * *

 

Michael found some kid passed out in a forest.  
  
Granted they looked about the same age as him, but I mean, he still considers himself a kid sometimes. What matters is holy shit, some kid is out cold in the dirt. And you know what else?  
  
They’ve got fucking bird wings.  
  
Jesus Christ. I mean, maybe he’s hallucinating big time, or dreaming, or some other vision-altering nonsense is affecting his life; but he can’t just leave the guy out here. Maybe he could just… carry this kid to safety (usually he’d call an ambulance, but years of sci-fi media suggest it wouldn’t end well for birdy here). Hell, each wing looked twice as big as its owner, but--birds have hollow bones so they can fly, right?  
  
It didn’t take long to prove his hypothesis correct a-la throwing the kid over his shoulder, wings splaying out behind them. The poor guy must weigh like ten pounds, cause Michael’s pretty sure he didn’t suddenly get super buff. Acutely aware that carrying someone over your shoulder through the woods is a questionable thing to do, he started home as quickly as possible. Sure he lives out in the middle of nowhere, but any house is better than dirt.

Trying to fit both the kid and their wings through the front door was a feat worthy of the olympics. Michael should win an award for actually managing to get them inside. Since he’s feeling extra sorry for the winged sci-fi kid, he brought them all the way to his own room, and layed them as carefully as he could on his own bed. He figured he could just go sleep on the couch.

And he did.

Maybe this whole situation was kinda freaking him the fuck out (even if he’s trying his best not to show it), but hell, he was tired. Not anything, not anyone is going to stop him from falling asleep.

And he was right. For a little while.

It had been maybe an hour or so--not long enough--before Michael blinked awake thanks to a disgruntled face just inches from his own.

“Michael.”

Michael responded by tiredly bonking a closed fist against the side of his head (in American Sign Language, it loosely translated to the letter S crossed with the sign for hair). He decided some time ago that’s what he would call his asshole sibling when he didn’t feel like talking.

Their ‘proper’ name was Sutton, and they didn’t look very pleased.

“Why are you trying to sleep on the couch?”

 _Not trying_ \--Michael shook his head-- _WAS sleeping_ , he signed back with a mock pout.

Sutton snorted. “I know you can speak.”

 _To you?_ He raised his eyebrows.

Evidently Sutton wasn’t taking any shit today. They’d already turned to leave. “If you won’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll check your room mys--”

Michael sat right up. “--Don’t _._ ”

“Oh, he speaks at last.”

“Jesus, man.” He rubbed his eyes. “Can’t a guy just sleep on the couch?..”

“ _Tell me what’s going on._ ”

He seemed to consider this for a moment, deliberately being as obnoxious as possible. He knew Sutton’s limits--but he wasn’t going to push them too much.

“..Yeah, I kinda... found some kid unconscious outside. ..And brought them inside.”

“You _what?_ ”

“Look, my bed’s probably comfier than some dirt, I--”

“Michael, you _idiot,_ ” Sutton groaned. “Why didn’t you call the police, or an ambulance? That could be _anybody_ , and you _let them into our house!_ ”

“I couldn’t just leave ‘em there!” Prying himself off the couch, Michael stood. “It was a weird fucking situation, okay? I can’t just--”

“You can’t just _do_ things like this!”

“Oh, well _too bad_ , I just did. _Look_ , I just--”

“I don’t _want_ excuses, I _want you_ to _fix this!_ ”

“ _The HELL do you think I’m--_ ”

A muffled yell of terror came from Michael’s room and they both turned to face it. Michael’s hand found his forehead-- _Stupid!_ \--as he made a mad dash for his room. Sutton was close behind. He shouldn’t have left the bird kid alone. He shouldn’t have let them wake up alone in a stranger’s house. _Stupid_.

He couldn’t make out what was being said, but the voice alone was loud and afraid enough to inspire him to hurry the fuck up. No time for hesitation as he reached the door and threw it open. The bird kid was right behind it, wide-eyed and pale as a ghost.

The bird kid screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

There was an awful lot to scream about.

Waking up in a strange, unnatural room is enough to put anyone on edge, and not knowing if you’re meant to be there is wholly and truly _terrifying_. But you know what hit him even harder?

The people who just stepped into the room didn’t have any wings.

He’d shoved himself against the back wall by now, those feathers of his curling defensively around his shaky frame. They lost their wings. How did they lose their wings? Were they _hurt?_ Are they going to hurt _him? Are they going to make him lose his wings too?_ He opened his mouth to ask something-- _anything_ \--

“...Wh-where’s--” He choked out a cough and gasped. The air was so _thick_ \-- “Where’s your wings? I--whe- _where am I? What’s going on? Please, don’t--d-don’t hurt me, I just--_ ”

“Hey, hey, dude,” one of them returned in a low whisper, slowly inching closer, hands outstretched. “It’s alright, I promise, I... I mean, we won’t hurt you, okay?... Just.. do you need to chill for awhile?”

Well. It was something. His wings relaxed a little bit, but he didn’t move otherwise. “What’s.. wh-what are you gonna do?”

“..We’re not gonna do anything, buddy, I promise.” The closer of the two was staring back as they spoke; or at least, that’s what he assumed. It was dim and they had little pieces of glass over their eyes. How did they do that? They continued shuffling nearer, evidently trying not to scare him any further. The taller one in the back still hadn’t moved. “--I mean, like, are you hurt? ‘Cause--’cause we can help patch you up, and stuff.”

In spite of the disturbing mental image it gave him, at least he knows what ‘patch you up’ means. His silence prompted them to continue.

“...I found you passed out outside. I--we dunno who you are or anything,” he assured, hands waving side to side for emphasis, “I just.. y’know, I thought something bad might’ve happened and wanted to be sure you were safe--it’s uh, a little safer in here than out in some forest.” They paused to scratch the back of their head. “..Didn’t mean to scare you, uh, sorry. But…” They leaned back somewhat, and he was able to see their eyes clearly for the first time; one was darker than the other. “...Are you okay, man?..”

\--He was asked a question. Oh, goodness, he didn’t prepare himself to answer questions. His mouth hung open for a few seconds before he cleared his throat and nodded. Sure, he’s okay. He’s trembling less than he was before. He’s fine. This is fine.

And then he processed what he just heard, and his stomach dropped.

“...You--” another cough came tumbling out; but he _had_ to be sure-- “..y-you found--I was in a _forest?_ ”

They nodded apologetically. “..I dunno how you got out there, uh--”

“People don’t--” interrupting seems risky, but-- “th-this is a joke or something, right? N-nobody lives by forests, there’s--there’s not--where am I? Wh-where am I really?” He glowered warily at them. It had to be a trick, right? They were just trying to _confuse_ him so that... so that _what?_

“...Uh.. I mean, there’s a bunch of trees right outside, it’s Wharton State or something. I--I’m sorry, really, it’s--”

They were still talking about who knows what, but he’d stopped listening. It’s not true. It was all _wrong_ , everything was too _off_ ; he needs to get out of here. His gaze wandered as he tried to steady his breath, and eventually focused on the one exit. The taller one was still standing there, staring. His wings slowly folded behind him as he tensed up.

“--out here, and… dude? ..You good, or--”

He launched himself forward, diving past them both, out of the room.

 

* * *

 

Michael got a faceful of feathers, and then the bird kid was gone.

Holy _shit_ they were fast. But--oh god, the poor guy must be lost as hell. Where do bird people even come from? Not fucking New Jersey, that’s for sure. Once he could properly register what actually happened, Michael turned and ran after them. “-- _Wait--!_ ”

Sutton, usually much less agreeable, was dead silent as they followed close behind.

By the time the two were back in the living room, the bird kid had figured out how to open the front door and booked it again. Jesus Christ. If the kid only just learned what a door is, how the hell are they going to survive on their own out there? I mean, yeah, they’re probably in shock, and reacting pretty much as bad as expected, but it’ll be _even fucking worse_ if they’re lost outside instead.

And, y’know, maybe he shouldn’t feel responsible for some random kid he just met, but here he is, chasing after them into the middle of nowhere. Even Sutton was still behind him, actually being helpful for once.

As it turns out though, there wasn’t much more chasing to do. Birdy hadn’t gotten very far, now standing just a few meters from the porch. Their feathers were ruffled and they were staring at the rest of the world like it didn’t make any sense; for all Michael knew, it didn’t. God, he didn’t even know the kid’s name. He wanted to _do_ something, help the poor guy out, but--fuck, he just didn’t know how. At a loss for better ideas, he opened his mouth.

“..You okay?” They jumped at his voice, and Michael immediately felt bad, but they didn’t respond at first. Oh boy.

“...It.. i-it’s all wrong, th…” Bird kid started coughing, which seemed to only make them feel worse. “..Th-the ground isn’t--th--I-I can’t--th-there’s so many _trees_ , but, wh--” The blue and white feathers started swaying back and forth. “--I-I’m n-not--”

This was horrible to watch, oh Jesus. Michael slowly started forwards. Maybe if they had someone to talk it out with--he doesn’t know what the hell to do, but he’s trying. “...It’ll be okay, buddy, okay?” he offered in a low whisper, carefully leaning forwards.  “..Can you tell me your name?... We can figure out how to get you home, okay?”

He watched in awe and concern as the wings slowly began to fold up again.

“..M-my name’s...” They trailed off. Michael swallowed back a bit more fear.

There was a long, awkward moment of still silence, before the bird kid began to tremble. Oh god. What should he do? Something’s wrong, but--they made a choked sort of noise and covered their mouth with both hands. The feathers on their back began to curl in. Before Michael could do anything they spun around to face him, wide-eyed and shaking.

The bird kid was crying.

“ _..I d--I d-don’t remember--I--I DON’T REMEMBER ANYTHING, I’M SORRY--!_ ”


	3. Chapter 3

Both Michael and Sutton thought it best to let the bird kid cry it out. Poor guy must have fallen out of the sky or something; the least they could do is give them a little space. At some point, in sign as to not disturb them any further, Michael’s sibling stepped forward to tell him something. “Amnesia is always caused by trauma.”

Michael spelled back “No shit”.

 

* * *

  
The sky was a gentle pink.

Mist drifted lazily along the pale ground, trailing after the wind, pouring over every drop in the hard soil. In the distance was nothing but more pink, red, orange, and a sparse handful of similar patches of gathering fog.

If you continued on, pressing through the sleepy veil, you’d eventually find buildings. They were rounded, soft, paranoid of corners. These too were sparse, each a single, quiet neighborhood of its own. Vines both pale and dull red inched along the sides, the occasional flower marking their progress.

If you were to continue even further, you would encounter buildings of the less pleasant variety.

One structure was fixed next to a field, the contents of which were obscured almost entirely by the mist. If you were to look off to one side you couldn’t tell the difference between it and every other direction. Your feet would brush against invisible plants, lost to the world for another few hours.

You wouldn’t notice the small patch of scuffed ground, ringed with crumpled blue feathers.

Nobody would for a very long time.

 

* * *

  
The bird kid (they figured out he was a he and not a they) had calmed down. He came back inside after some insistence from Michael, thank god. The last thing they need is an amnesiac trying to live out in Wharton State Forest. Now they were both in the living room, Michael on the couch and birdy cross-legged on the floor. They were facing each other so nobody had to strain to hear anything. Sutton was still muted in awe, quietly watching from the other end of the room.

The kid’s blue and white wings were shifting every so often. They were by far the most expressive part of him. Michael could see why his sibling was staring. He wanted to stare too.

By now he introduced both himself and Sutton, then doing his best to explain that wings weren’t really a thing people have here. The most outlandish thing in their house was Sutton’s hair, he made sure to point out, which earned a tiny laugh from birdy.

...Right, he needs to find a better name than birdy, doesn’t he?

“..So uh, you really don’t remember your name?”

Bird kid shook his head, wings folding in. “No, I--I don’t. Sorry. ..But I think I’m a Martin.”

Michael wasn’t sure how to interpret that, so he ventured to just ask. “...So we should call you--”

Birdy cut him off, hands out and waving. “No no no see--it’s not a name--not someone’s name--I think.. i-it’s my kind of wings.”

He was surprised to realize that actually made sense. “Oh, sh--yeah, a martin’s a kind of bird, forgot about that.

“...It is?”

“I mean, I haven’t like, seen any blue ones ever, mostly just brown, but I think sometimes they’re purple, that’s pretty neat.”

Bird kid leaned in. “They’re only two colors??”

“Well--I dunno, maybe--so, uh. Is there anything you want us to call you? Cause I just keep thinking ‘bird kid’ and I’m pretty sure you don’t wanna be known as birdy forever.”

Those wings folded all the way in. “I’m a--” --there was some weird word that started with a v-- “like everyone else, not a bird,” he mumbled. He sounded.. indignant. No bird name then. But he didn’t have any follow-up thoughts either. Looks like they’ll have to figure something out. Hm.

Michael furrowed his brows. He’d only just now noticed the bird kid was wearing slightly tattered versions of super nice clothes, some kind of collared shirt and what might have been a vest. Not in any styles he recognized, but I mean, neither are the giant wings. He had a thought.

“...D’you have any pockets?”

“What?”

“Like, keep anything on your person? Or in your clothes?”

“...” Wings reaching out at his sides, he began patting down the torn vest that somehow survived the trip. Not a moment later did he reach into the fabric, producing.. more fabric. Better than nothing. It was a small, blue square decorated with what looked like a beginner’s attempt at embroidery.

Michael’s thought was that people with nice stuff liked to have their initials on said nice stuff, but this just looked like a five cent sample from Joann Fabrics with some string stuck to it. The bird kid’s eyes were wide as he examined the little square of fabric. Eventually he held it up so Michael could see it; Sutton actually found it in themself to move closer too. The shape of a feather was stitched into it in thick, white thread. In the top left corner was a slightly uneven letter ‘J’.

“..I think it’s a birthday pendant,” the bird kid uttered. “...I think it’s mine.” Slowly but surely a smile grew onto his face. It was the best thing Michael’s ever seen, even if he didn’t really get it. He looked so happy. Maybe it was something the kid made himself.

And hey, look at that, an initial.

Michael signed the letter a few times as he thought. “J.. guess your name started with a J--Jayyy…”

He looked up from his scrap of fabric to watch. “..Your hand moving? That’s--what’s that called, when you gesture instead of--”

“Oh, uh--yeah, kinda. Whole language.” He repeated the sign out in front of him, pinky finger swooping down through the air. “Letter J. ...Oh uh, hey--can I call you Jay? Cause--you totally need a name, dude.”

Sutton said something annoyed-sounding from behind him. Michael didn’t attempt to listen.

“..Jay,” birdy repeated back. “I wonder what that stands for.. I--I think--Jay is okay. Until I remember, um.. what it actually is.. yeah, you can call me Jay.”

Michael smiled. “A real pleasure to be introduced then, Jay.”

Jay cautiously smiled back.

“...You too.”


	4. Chapter 4

This was going to take some adjusting.

It’s the end of the day and Jay found himself glued to the window. The sky had been blue in… wherever he is, but now that the sun’s going down it began turning shades of orange and pink. He remembered pink skies. He remembered looking out at the drifting sun as it painted the scattered landscape in warm, gorgeous color. He remembered the gentle, drifting clouds lining an invisible horizon for the sun to hide behind.

But they’ve never been this far away before.

All the same, the sight of something familiar was captivating. The sky isn’t quite the same, but it’s close. Maybe he’s closer to home than he thought.

He was vaguely aware of one of the--what word did they use, humans?--behind him, and half a glance told him it was Michael, the shorter one. His focus was on the sky though. If the sky was only the right color for a few moments, he wanted to take it in as long as he could.

So he did.

A few minutes later the sun was gone and the sky turned blue again, but a softer, dimmer blue than before. It struck him suddenly that the people here thrived under blue. It must be normal here, just like trees and square houses and a floor that doesn’t move. Why would they need a sky of any other color? But… it isn’t always blue, is it?

Everything’s so foggy, and yet he’d give anything to reclaim his place in the clouds.

The next time he looked, Michael was standing next to him. It was only a moment before he remembered he’s a stranger here, a guest; he should probably be acting like one. Goodness. His wings twitched as he took a step back and cleared his throat. “I was--I, um--didn’t know the sky could turn.. blue.”

“It does that a lot around here, yeah.”

He couldn’t help feeling a little anxious around Michael and Sutton. Maybe they really did have some ulterior motives--he couldn’t fathom  _ what _ for the life of him, but he always pictured it being something about their lack of wings. It was so easy to imagine the two with feathers--or even the bug-like wings he knew existed on some--and for some reason it scared him. He’s only just met them today, they could be anyone. They could want anything; for all he knows they want to drop him out of the sky again--

His breath caught in his throat. He’d been staring. He quickly shot his gaze back out the window, face pale and eyes wide.

_ Again. _

Michael must have seen him grow tense; he didn’t make any conversation after that. Maybe it was rude, not wanting to talk anymore--he swears he can feel Michael’s eyes on his back--but it might have been just as messy to say something unnecessary.

Breathe in… breathe out. Jay spent the next several moments to try calming himself down, to rationalize everything. Michael’s been nice. Sutton’s been nice. Their house is weird beyond imagination, but sort of nice. He slowly relaxed his feathers. They don’t even have anywhere to drop him from. There’s no real reason he should be worried, right? The pounding in his chest was hard to stop, but at least he knew he could slow it down.

At least he knew the sky could still turn pink.

 

* * *

 

God, this poor kid.

Michael’s stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to think of something better to say. He can’t take his eyes off those wings though, they’re just… everything. Like, hell, no wonder running into people without feathers was jarring, it’d be like trying to talk to someone who doesn’t express things with their face at all.

And believe him, he’s talked to plenty of people like that, all boring and robotic.

Imagine being lost in a world of robots. You’d starve, one way or another.

…

Oh fuck. What do bird kids  _ eat? _

Michael found himself with a gross mental image of how baby birds usually get food and shuddered. But--okay, birdy is nowhere near a baby. He looks teen-ish. His wings are… fully grown, as far as he can tell. The colors look more like an actual jay than a martin bird, but hell, who knows how genetics work in bird town?

He started trying to count the things birds  _ don’t _ eat on his fingers, but the list got out of hand almost immediately. It only occurred to him a few moments later that he could probably just ask.

Michael re-focused in reality and adjusted his glasses, only to start hesitating again. Jay’s leaning his entire weight on the windowsill, wings folded against his sides like he was giving himself a hug or using them as a blanket.

Huh.

The bird kid’s fallen asleep.

 

* * *

 

It’s been a long day.

As they do when something vexes them, Sutton has gone out for a drive. Not to anywhere, never to anywhere; a drive to work is never cathartic. There’s nothing to see, but there doesn’t need to be. They’re only driving. They’ll be home soon.

An angel fell from the sky today.

They’ve never been religious--at least not in the literal sense--but the only word they could come up with was angel. They regretted being so entranced at the time. They needed to stay rational about all of this. Angel or not, he needed help. Real help. Not the help of their hard-of-hearing little brother who thinks he’s so smart because he refuses to buy apple products.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

If this is the only angel on earth, there aren’t going to be any medical records available for his species. They have no way of knowing about any differences in anatomy, but a veterinarian or a doctor would be better equipped to find out.

The radio was on, nearly silent. Sutton was faintly aware of its switch from advertisements to another song. Noise always helps them focus.

The angel--they were hesitant to use Michael’s nickname--had clearly just gone through something terrible, something that scared him worse than falling. He’s entered a fugue state. They didn’t know what to do in terms of angels though, so they’d been stuck watching and waiting. All the same, they hoped that if they can study what he does, then they can figure out why. Vex thee no more, angel.

A familiar driveway crept back onto the horizon. Their thought-fest would have to come to an end. There’s never time to understand everything, they thought finally.

Sutton liked it better when things were simple.


	5. Chapter 5

“Michael, I’m--”

Sutton was immediately shushed by their brother putting a finger to his lips on the other side of the room. Part of them cursed themself for deciding they’d give in so easily, but boundaries had to be established. The two of them would get nowhere otherwise. It wouldn’t hurt either of them not to speak out loud for a while anyways.

“Care to tell me why?” Sutton signed curtly in the silence.

“Jay’s asleep,” Michael signed in reply, and finished the thought with a lazy wave. Sutton rolled their eyes. But one quick glance proved him correct. The winged boy was motionless, leaning on the windowsill.

“Hello to you too. We need to discuss things.”

Michael audibly groaned. He looked like he was considering talking back--or signing back, rather--but then said something Sutton’s never seen his hands spell out before. He signed “Later.”

Michael  _ hated _ being told to worry about something later. Of course they didn’t expect him to be easy and accepting and rational  _ all _ the time, but they never thought he’d try stooping to a new personal low. “You don’t get to put things off. Really, Michael.”

Michael, however, had turned his head away, no longer paying attention. He mimed a hand puppet ranting.

“Michael.”

Blah blah blah, hand puppet.

“All you’re doing is making things more difficult for the both of us.”

They would have kept going, but it was clear Michael wasn’t making even the slightest effort to see what they were saying. The little hypocrite. What are they supposed to do when he shuts himself out like this? It’s  _ their _ job to make sure he stays alive and healthy.

Why did life have to bind them to someone who doesn’t want them here?

At some point their brother started waving a hand in the air, evidently still following his own silence rule. “Help me move Jay to the couch,” he signed as he turned back around, wearing only mild annoyance on his face.

Sutton hesitated.

“Not your bed?”

“Being in my room scared him, duh. If he stays downstairs he’ll probably better remember where he is when he wakes up. Come on.”

They were annoyed to find his reasoning made at least some sense. Michael carefully leaned the angel’s weight onto his own, and Sutton found themself actually helping, taking the greatest care to cradle the wings that looked more delicate than they had any right to be. Somehow the two of them managed to maneuver their guest--who was sleeping like a rock--onto the couch without crushing anything important.

Good, Sutton thought faintly. He probably needed more rest anyways.

The less rational part of their brain had decided to focus on the blue and white feathers. They didn’t know what it was for the life of them, but they found the angel so… entrancing. Where could he have possibly come from? He looks human, feathers aside. Convergent evolution? Some indescribable force of nature making a statement about mankind?

The latter was less likely, but it was fun to consider sometimes.

When they finally returned to their surroundings, they found Michael had gone upstairs already. A heavy sigh escaped their lips. He wasn’t even going to stay and see if there was anything else he could do. Even if there wasn’t.

There wasn’t.

But he was still being annoying, and as such, Sutton found themself annoyed. In some small act they felt would both spite their brother’s behavior and justify themself even further, Sutton decided to keep vigil while the angel slept.

They were doing more than they had to. They always do more than they have to.

Some day, they decided, that’s going to pay off.

 

* * *

 

“...I had things to do.”

“What, like chores? Since when?”

“Someone had to sweep the fog off our islands.”

“I thought you hired someone to do that for you.”

“I thought we did too.”

Two pairs of wings followed two pairs of legs through the more crowded part of their region. Rounded structures, suspended between the landmasses, advertised all sorts of goods and wares. Textiles and tools and foods galore could be found within, they said. The more adventurous salesmen roamed the islands with handfuls of threads, games, or even dance equipment.

The pair having their daily conversation were both adorned with enormous feathery wings. The one complaining had smaller, sleeker wings than his companion. Both of them were well known, and both of them knew their place in society.

They were also the sort who enjoyed their place in society.

Nothing left to do, the two quickened their pace and took off, flying over the remainder of the shopping district. The sky was clear and calm, a light, welcoming pink; it was perfect weather for spreading your wings.

In looking for ways to pass the time, the pair found that skirting the edges of the floating islands was a cheap and easy way to get a few thrills. The smaller of the two landed where the stones and vines dropped off into nothingness, and poked at the edge itself with his feet. He wouldn’t admit to being scared by the edge, so instead he grinned and joked about it. His companion laughed, so he must be doing something right.

And then something struck him, and for just a second, he frowned.

He’s been to the edge of this region before, and could’ve sworn it hadn’t been what lay at his feet now. The marketplace hadn’t been this close to the edge before, had it? It was as if there should be just one more island to complete the chain.

A pair of eyes stared down into the cloudy abyss.

No longer willing to think about it, he jumped back into the air and left the edge alone.

“Something wrong?”

“...No. But I think somewhere else would be more interesting.”

 

* * *

 

He can’t sleep.

_ Great. _

Michael doesn’t want to say he’s had a long day when his new house guest fell from the fucking sky this morning, but somewhere in his head he felt he deserved some time to just… chill.

And now he couldn’t get his own damn head to cooperate.

Everything was still stirring in his head; mostly Jay, partially Sutton. He had too many emotions about this whole stupid thing. All he wanted to do was help a bird kid.

And he did an okay job, y’know?

But it was all a little too overwhelming. The gravity of the situation began to settle squarely on his shoulders as he stared up at the ceiling. What could they actually do? Where do you let a bird kid live? Not at school, not with the police, heaven fucking forbid with any relatives.

And what if his asshole sibling does a better job than he does?

Ugh.

Everything is too much.

He’ll deal with it all tomorrow.


End file.
